The season’s changing has not been subtle. There are ice cubes carried by the wind, it cuts through layers. You wouldn’t know this by looking at the temperature in the iPhone weather app. It is the result of being on an exposed hilltop - nothing breaks the wind with its chilly payload.
Under normal, 21st century living standards, this is something you can just notice in passing. But when living without heat, with 400 square feet of living space, the weather outside becomes your world. When it is scorching hot, you feel it, When it is icy, when it is wet, you feel every bit of it. These conditions dictate what you can do. It is not easy living this way. I am quite cold as I type these words.
But there is a really beautiful part to this as well.
Later today, it will likely be magnificent. The icy winds will become a cooling breeze, the sun will be generous to our skin and solar panels alike. It will arise within me to savor these conditions. Without the comforts that mankind has engineered to minimize the state of the outside world, you enter a state of dependence. With dependence, comes a certain flavor of gratitude.
Without feeding our dogs they would not likely survive long (well, Freya and Frodo might, but Leonard doesn’t stand a chance). They are in a state of dependence. As such, the food we offer them is always a kind of gift. They seem to receive it as such. It is Thanksgiving every day for them.
We experience something like that on the land.
We are in a state of dependence.
And the land keeps giving its gifts.
Kelly and I always comment on how there is a painting in the sky every morning. There are no sunrises we have ever seen that compare.
We are gifted with quiet, beautiful vistas, the privilege of seeing the local inhabitants living out their lives. The quiet pleasure of a perfectly timed breeze on a warm day.
We have wondered how we will look back at these months. Will we see them as deprivation we suffered through, once we are in a place that offers warm or cool air at the press of a button? Or will we remember the quiet peace that comes from accepting the gifts that the land offers.
I hope it is the latter.
Still, let’s be honest, I would kill for a real kitchen…
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